The Problem with Dentistry
by dracofan22
Summary: Hermione seems to have more bad days than good days, but fortunately for her that is all about to change.
1. Chapter 1

"Bartholomew Wilkinson," Hermione sighed. "What a surprise."

"I'm here for my examination, healer." The old graying man set his knobby wooden cane against the clean alabaster walls of Hermione's wizarding dental practice and moved unsteadily to seat himself in the patient's chair.

"Mr. Wilkinson, as always, I must stress upon you the redundancy of your… frequent check ups. It is truly unnecessary. You have strong gums, a full set of healthy, white teeth, and making weekly appointments with me is, frankly sir, a waste of time and money." She hoped that perhaps today the old coot would see her point and stop wasting her time as well as his own, but she wasn't going to hold her breath. "And I'm not a healer sir, just a dentist."

"Nonsense young lady. Children your age, you never understand. My teeth could give out any moment. Do you know how old I am? I'll tell you how old I am –"

Hermione rolled her eyes as she noisily snapped on her latex gloves. Mr. Wilkinson was her most difficult patient by far. He insisted on having every centimeter of his mouth inspected every Friday at four, including x-rays and detailed noting of each tooth's exact location, condition, and projected lifespan. The work was always tediously excessive, and Hermione had the sneaking suspicion that he was not legitimately concerned for the welfare of his teeth, but rather more interested in the opportunity to leer at her in her immaculate, form fitting lab coat. She sighed again as she clipped the paper bib to the front of his robes.

"All right Mr. Wilkinson, open wide please." she tried hard not to wince at the sight of the old man's slimy, discolored tongue, and willed herself not to recoil as said tongue rubbed suggestively against her probing fingers.

"Mr. Wilkinson, it would help me greatly if you would cease the movement of your tongue."

"Ease all ee Ary."

"I'm sorry Mr. Wilkinson, I will not call you Barty. I like to maintain a professional atmosphere with my patients."

There was a knock on the door, and Hermione's secretary Elaine stuck her head in.

"I'm sorry to interrupt Ms. Granger, but Mr. Potter is on the floo for you. He says it's urgent."

"Thanks Elaine. I'll be right there." Hermione reached behind her to the table that held all her tools. Out of spite, she grabbed the clamp and inserted it none too gently into Bartholomew's open mouth.

"There now, Mr. Wilkinson. You just sit tight for me. I'll be back in a pinch." Unfortunately, 'pinch' had been a very poor choice of words. No sooner had she stood from her stool and turned her back on the man did she feel a hand giving her bum a firm pinch. Biting her tongue, she made for the exit.

When she was in the safety of her waiting room, the door shut securely, Elaine turned to Hermione.

"Was that really necessary to clamp is mouth open like that?"

"Not at all." she replied nonchalantly. "You mentioned something about Harry?"

"Hello Mione." Harry's voice came from the other side of the reception desk. Walking over to her fireplace, she crouched down me meet Harry's head that was floating amidst the flickering green flames.

"Afternoon Harry, how is everything?"

"Oh everything is, you know, everything. It's been very easy going today, except that, er… something's come up." His expression was pained and it looked like he was trying to rub out the tension in his neck with a shaky hand. Hermione's brow immediately furrowed.

"What do you mean? What's happened? Has someone been hurt?" Harry's eyes widened and he shook his head furiously.

"No, no! Nothing like that. What I mean to say is that something's come up for tonight. I know we were going to meet for drinks for Ron's birthday and all but I'm… um, feeling a bit ill. My stomach has been quite sour and I don't suppose that drinking will make it any better."

Liar, Hermione thought bitterly.

"And I've already talked it over with Ron, he understands, and we'll just reschedule for another time, yeah? Well I better go, me being sick and all. I knew you'd understand. You're the best Mione, cheers!"

The end came rushed and hardly comprehensible, but his head was gone before she had a chance to protest. She straightened and tucked an errant curl that had fallen loose from her pony tail behind her ear.

"Elaine, I'll be working late tonight. You're welcome to leave early if you'd like. It's Friday, I'm sure you have plans."

Elaine blushed and tried to pretend she hadn't heard the conversation between friends. She had always pitied Hermione in her own way. Despite the successful practice, the natural beauty, and the abundance of talent that her boss undeniably possessed, she always seemed to be alone. If she had to guess, Elaine would suppose that the closest Hermione Granger got to romance was the marriage proposal from the crusty Wilkinson bloke every week.

"Erm, well I did actually have some plans for later, but I could stay if you like." Elaine offered shyly.

Hermione refused. "No, go on home. It's just boring paperwork. Have a lovely weekend. I'll see you Monday."

"Thanks, you too Miss. Granger." Hermione waited as the younger girl gathered her things and left the office before returning to Mr. Wilkinson and concluding his exam. True to form, as he handed over what he owed for his visit he took her soft, young hand in his rough, elderly one and looked her in the face with watery eyes to recite the same speech for the hundredth time.

"Miss Granger, an old man like me needs some spunk in his life, someone beautiful and young to keep me childish at heart. Please my delicate flower, be my wife."

And again for the hundredth time, she declined, pulling her hand back and ushering him out the door. With him finally out of the way and the office to herself, she leaned against the door and let out a sad breath.

That night, long after the 'Open' sign was flipped to 'Closed', she took her time cleaning each tool, sterilizing each stainless steel implement to the point of perfection. At eight o'clock, she unbuttoned her lab coat and hung it up on the coat rack. She straightened the papers on Elaine's desk, and sorted Monday's appointments into alphabetical stacks of 'morning', 'afternoon', and 'early evening'. Lastly, she adorned her cloak, grabbed her purse, turned out the lights, and locked the front door.

* * *

"Man, I bloody hate lying to her. She can see right through me. She expects that rubbish from you, but not from me. Why did I have to do it?" Harry kicked a rock angrily as he and Ron walked side by side to the apparition point just down the road from Harry's flat.

"Because it's my birthday, and I asked you to. Besides, Seamus has ordered strippers. _Strippers_, mate. And witches at that! I've heard that they like to have a gander at the old magic stick, if you know what I mean. Now come on, be a man and tell me honestly. If it was your birthday, would you rather have drinks with Hermione at Madame Uglyfoot's –"

"Puddifoot's –"

"Whatever, or get stinking pissed with your best mates while a bunch of gorgeous girls are shaking their bits at you. Come on Harry, tell me."

"All right, all right, fine. You win. Lead the way." Ron clapped him on the back.

"That's the way, mate. It's gonna be a fantastic night." The two men popped directly to the Hog's Head, where the birthday boy was greeted earnestly by the host with a punch on the arm and a glass of firewhiskey pressed into his hand.

* * *

She was proud of what she had accomplished. Really, she was. As were her parents. She knew they were frightened to death that she would become an auror straight out of Hogwarts and lose her life fighting for a world they weren't even a part of, but when she purchased the vacant lot next to Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor in Diagon Alley and turned it into Granger's Dentistry and Orthodontics, they let out a sigh of relief. However, despite their bursting delight at their daughter's decision to follow their footsteps, the Grangers could see an emptiness in Hermione, one that they had no idea how to fill.

On that particular evening, Hermione had decided to fill that void with alcohol, and lots of it. Not at all a heavy drinker, she rarely kept anything harder than wine in her flat. Flooing to the Leaky Cauldron, she dragged her feet in the direction of the Hog's Head for a bottle of anything that would knock her out quick.

Fishing around in her deep cloak pockets for some galleons, she fingered the envelope that held Ron's birthday present: season tickets to the Chudley Cannons, including away games. She knew he would be thrilled, whenever she had the chance to give it to him.

Spring came late, and there was still snow on the ground, sticking to her surprisingly impractical stiletto pumps and the hem of her nice jeans. She shook it off as best she could before entering the rowdy pub, and her eyes instinctively sought out the source of the commotion. Across the room, Ron's eyes widened to the size of dinner plates.

"Oh fuck. What's she doing here?" Ron grabbed Harry and pulled him down as he ducked under a table that a very scantily clad witch was currently using as a stage.

"What? Who?" Harry asked.

"Hermione! Bugger us, we're fried if she sees us here." Ron hissed. A pair of large feet stopped in front of their hide out, and a very drunk Seamus Finnigan stooped down to find Harry and Ron cowering behind the table legs.

"Oh, 'ello there. Whatcha doin' 'own there, eh? Is' your very own party me mate, me pal, me very good friend. Why ye hidin'? Ye ain't shy, are ye? Come 'ere now." To Ron's tremendous horror, Seamus began pulling him out from under the table.

"Seamus, no!" Harry tried to grab onto Ron's leg but it was to no avail.

"Now listen 'ere, all ye!" Seamus draped an arm around Ron's shoulders, hoisting him up to his feet. The crowd settled down enough to hear his slurred speech, and Ron chanced a look towards the bar, where Hermione's eyes were dancing with rage, her fists clenching and teeth grinding. He didn't doubt she wanted to give him the lashing of a lifetime. Ashamed, he looked away.

Seamus continued, staggering slightly. "This 'ere, is me good old mate Ron, an' its 'is birthday, so ladies, give 'im a kiss, would ye?" Whoops, hollers, and catcalls filled the pub. "I love ye mate, I love ye." Seamus wobbled away, having caused more damage than he was aware of.

When Ron lifted his head, it was to discover that Hermione was standing not a meter away, and she was livid. She pulled something out of her pocket and shoved it to his chest.

"Happy birthday, Weasley." she bit out fiercely. She turned and halted in front of the table. "And don't think I didn't see you too, Potter." She gave the concealed body a sharp kick. Harry yowled in pain clutching his shin, but didn't reveal himself. "That was for lying to me, you stupid prick. 'Home sick' my arse, you buffoon! You truant! You no-good liar!"

There were gentle but firm hands on her shoulders pulling her back, and a smooth voice was talking her down. "Come on now Granger, you've done an absolutely brilliant job of putting these wankers in their place. First rate, really, couldn't have done it better myself, but I think they've had enough. Let's just –"

Hermione spun to face the person slowly dragging her away from the scene she was making. Her face crinkled in disgust.

"You!"

Draco Malfoy smirked, noticeably pleased with himself. "Me."

"Malfoy, if you are expecting some urbane reunion, you can get lost. In fact, no matter what you are trying to do, go ahead and scram anyways!" she ripped herself out of his grip. "And _don't _touch me."

Malfoy held his hands up in surrender, a look of innocence plastered on his face. "Relax Granger," he purred. "I was only going to ask if you would like to engage in some drunken, animalistic shagging with me tonight. Seeing as you're so angry, I imagine we could test out a few kinky things I've been dying to try. What do you say?"

Her eyes narrowed to irate slits and her mouth opened to give a nasty retort, but over Malfoy's shoulder she saw both Ron and Harry, their faces agog, and she sneered.

"Your flat okay?" she asked, grabbing hold of his belt loops and pulling him towards the door. Malfoy allowed himself to be tugged along, even taking the opportunity to dip his hand down to her backside and give her delicious bum a squeeze. He looked back at the shocked expressions of Potter and Weasley, and just for the fun of it, waggled his fingers at them in a teasing good bye.

* * *

They didn't say a word as they walked together down the road, trudging through the remaining snow and sticky mud. Before they reached the Leaky Cauldron, Hermione cleared her throat and stopped.

"Thank you, I suppose. For saving me from myself. And I appreciate the act on your part, it certainly got the desired effect." he looked down at her quizzically.

"Act?"

"Well, yes. You didn't think I really meant to go home with you, did you?" she asked. His look was serious.

"I did. Besides, your mates ditched you so what better have you got to do than come over to my place and have a drink with me?" he jammed his hands into the pockets of his cloak and shrugged.

"I should just go home. It's been an awful day and, no offense, but I can't imagine spending the rest of it with you." Hermione dug through her purse to retrieve her wand. He had his out first and tapped the brick wall, moving aside for her to pass ahead of him. She hesitated, skeptical of his sudden chivalry. Gently he gave her a small push forward and she entered the pub.

"I'll tell you what," he seemed to have brushed off her excuse. "I'm going to leave my address here with Tom, in case you change your mind. Goodnight Granger. Maybe." he handed the barkeep a slip of parchment and disappeared in a swirl of green through the fireplace without glancing back at her once. Shaking her head, she ignored the urge to approach Tom.

Don't be stupid, Hermione told herself. Don't be a fool. She walked over to the floo but didn't get in. She had left the Hog's Head without purchasing anything to drink, and the nearest muggle bar was too far to walk in the cold. Longingly she stared back at the small paper left alone by the stacked glasses. She bit down on the inside of her cheek before rolling her eyes, stomping her foot and grasping her wand. She muttered a low accio and crinkled the thing eagerly in her palm. She told herself no one saw her do it and stepped into the roaring emerald blaze. Just one, she thought.

The floo spit her out on the ground floor of the complex that housed Malfoy's flat. After scanning the directory, she took the lift to the top floor and his front entrance.

"Penthouse," she mumbled. "Figures."

She rang the bell and stepped back. He answered the door and smirked when he saw her, opening the door wide for her to step in. "Well hello there – "

"Just one." Hermione marched through the foyer.

"Yes ma'am." he said merrily. The door closed with a bang and he followed closely on her heels.

**A/N: Hey there guys. To be honest, I'm not 100% sure where I'm going with this, but I guess we'll see. I started it a long time ago, so if you can see a difference in tone between the beginning and the end, that's why. I can't make promises about how often I'll get chapters up, but if you want to check on the status of how they're coming along, I have a blog for that (where I also tend to bitch about work and diets and cat fights…sorry) at .com/ thanks OH YEAH WAIT! Um I noticed that for some reason words that were spelled correctly on my Microsoft Word program are coming up as wrong on here, like letters being dropped or something, so I've been trying to keep an eye on it but if I miss something, it's not me, I swear. Blame the program. Please?  
**


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione made herself at home in his flat, searching the kitchen cabinets high and low for any alcohol with a proof higher than 100%. It wasn't until Malfoy joined her that the real treasures were unearthed. Pinning her against the counter with his hips, he leaned into her as he reached up high for the goods.

"This is top shelf quality Granger, I hope I won't be wasting it on you." his breath was hot in her ear and she could smell the intoxicating combination of his cologne and what she had come to recognize as distinctively male. She had assumed he was joking back at the pub for her benefit, and for the priceless rise out of Harry and Ron.

The heat between them and the suggestiveness of his tone made her reconsider. It made her think twice about other potential outcomes of the night, and she did her best not to calculate how long it had been since she had been in such an intimate setting with a man. She was startled to see a bottle being waved in front of her face. Vintage Firewhiskey, potent enough to knock out a thestral with only two shots, was the first thing to evoke a true smile from Hermione all evening. She grabbed at it but Malfoy lifted the bottle up high before she could snatch it.

"My house, so I'll pour," he said, "And you can go make yourself comfortable." he added with a wink.

"One would suppose that the 'sexiest bachelor under thirty' would own a coat rack, so where might I find one?" she heard him laugh.

"Don't tell me you read that rubbish they pass off as news. I should sue the tabloids and make a fortune. The coat rack is in the closet, the first door to your left." Hermione unbuttoned her cloak and tossed it over the brass hook. She called back, "You already have a fortune."

"Yes, but who wouldn't love another?" he met her in the living room and handed her a crystal glass with three fingers of amber liquid swirling among the ice.

"Cheers," he said, touching his glass to hers. "To much better hooch than you'd ever find in a pub full of miserable wizards.

"Cheers."

The first sip sent shivers down her spine, the second sip warmed her and the third was delicious and almost made her forget why she was so angry in the first place. Malfoy motioned for her to sit and she sank into a comfortable, overstuffed armchair that undoubtedly cost more than a year's worth of rent on her modest flat.

"So Granger."

"So Malfoy."

"I was just thinking about the last time I saw you." he was seated across from her looking more at ease than she could ever recall seeing him before. A lion in his den, she thought. Or perhaps a snake.

"Last February, at that café in Diagon Alley." he recalled. "You were with the female Weasley and wearing that pink sweater, the one with the ribbons on the front."

She was genuinely stunned. It was a miracle that she herself could remember that day, it being nearly a year ago. "How on earth do you remember what I was wearing? And I didn't even see you that day, where were you hiding?" he tipped his glass at her.

"You look fetching in pink, Granger. That's how I remember. And before you accuse me of stalking you, I was merely seated at the table behind you." she blushed and looked away.

She burned under his gaze, grasping for something to say that wouldn't make her sound like an airhead or a prude. She nursed her drink to buy time.

"Well, I don't remember seeing you after the last court hearing. Unless you count the magazines and sleaze rags." She didn't want to harp on about the court hearing, the one that cleared him and many others of their involvement in the war. It had left him with a clean slate to do with as he chose, and he had certainly made the most of it. The public, at least the female half, seemed to be effortlessly charmed by his good looks, good deeds, and grand Gringott's account.

He winced and shook his head. "Ah, yes. The news reporters, if you could call them that, wouldn't know the truth if it was dancing naked in front of them." she let out a barking "Ha!"

"As if you don't enjoy being called the 'sexiest bachelor under thirty'!" Hermione exclaimed, laughing. "How unfortunate for you, to have every woman panting for it whenever you take your robes off." she immediately slapped a hand to her mouth, eyes wide. She had meant to be sarcastic, but something, maybe the liquor, had changed her tone into something akin to admiration. He looked like the cat that caught the canary. A triumphant smirk slid across his face.

"Every woman, Granger?" he asked slyly. "Panting, you say?"

Her heart was pounding so hard she could hear the blood rushing through her ears and feel her pulse in her toes. "No!" she yelped. It had been years since she had blushed so furiously. He bit his lip and she decided instantly that it was the most delicious thing she'd ever seen. She desperately wanted him to do it again but didn't dare say a word.

"Good." he stood and moved to take the glass from her hand. "Want another glass?"

"Oh, I probably shouldn't."

"One more then." he nimbly plucked it from her fingers and went back to the counter where the bottle was waiting.

For the four hours that followed her invasion on his liquor, Malfoy watched her with fascination. The wonderment was partially attributed to the fact that for a girl… no… for a woman of her size, she could hold her alcohol better than many troll-like men he knew, and also because he was truly taken aback by her behavior when she was intoxicated. She was fun. Really fun.

* * *

He couldn't remember the last time he had had such a good time. And the real kicker was, he wasn't in a pub with his rowdy quidditch mates, or a club with a leggy blond wrapped around him, or any other social soiree that may have previously peaked his interest. No, he was at home on a Friday night with Hermione. He was rolling around on the floor with her, laughing so hard he could barely breathe.

"You did not!" she yelled between fits of giggles.

"I did. I swear. Lost a bet." he put his hand on his heart and looked up at her from his back. She made a face.

"Professor Sprout? You're joking, right?" stretched out on her stomach, she grabbed his hand. "And don't lie!"

"On my honor. The worst ten minutes of my life."

"Ahhhh!" she shook her head and squealed. "You're tainted now Malfoy." she flipped onto her back beside him and the hand she had been holding came to rest on her flat stomach. As she caught her breath, he was acutely aware that his hand was very gently stroking her over her blouse as if it possessed a mind of its own. He heard her swallow hard. The firewhiskey had only increased their hazy lust. She rolled on top of him. He was dimly aware that he had stopped breathing. Her hair tickled his neck and he found himself overwhelmed by her.

"I want to make some bad decisions with you tonight." she whispered, her lips almost touching his. He closed his eyes and groaned. Greedily he sucked in air before gasping her name.

"Granger,"

"Malfoy."

"Granger, look,"

"Malfoy." she had made herself busy doing something incredible to his ear.

"Oh yes…"

"Yes."

"Bugger. I mean, no." her lips had begun to fuse onto his neck. Resolve weakened, he tried again.

"Hermione, stop. No." her head popped up, a perplexed look on her face.

"No?"

"No."

"But you just – a second ago you had, I mean we –" she broke off. He winced.

It was painful for him to push her away, after he'd enjoyed her ministrations so much. He watched guiltily as her expression changed quickly to frustration, and then embarrassment. He pulled himself up off the floor and offered her a hand. She ignored it and quickly began to search for her shoes. It was rare for him to see any woman desperate enough to get away from him. She was gone before he could offer to let his driver drop her off or some powder to floo back home.

* * *

"So, what do you think the odds are that she'll ever speak to us again?"

"Come on Harry, it is Hermione after all. She'll be fine by tomorrow."

Harry and Ron were eating lunch at the Leaky Caldron, where they had stayed for the night after Tom refused to let them use the Floo network at the risk of barging through the wrong fireplace. Harry frowned.

"You know mate, I don't like to get involved with these sorts of things, but I think that's why you and Hermione never got along. She's not a machine, you know."

"A machine? What in the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?"

"I mean that you never… you know, you don't…" Harry lowered his voice. "You don't consider her feelings. This is hardly the first time you've lied to her." Ron boomed, "Feelings? I'm supposed to be considering her _feelings_? Bugger! Since when have you turned into an agony aunt?"

"Well yeah, but – "

"No, just don't go there, Harry. Don't go taking her side again. Besides, you saw that stunt she pulled with Malfoy as clearly as I did. She couldn't possibly be all that broken up about it."

They finished their meals in a gloomy silence, but Harry wasn't so sure that she hadn't actually gone along with Malfoy. As they paid, he asked Ron,

"You don't think she really went home with him, did you?" Ron chuckled.

"Harry, take it from someone who knows. If there are two things Hermione hates, it's Draco Malfoy and kinky sex. Don't you worry about a thing, mate."

* * *

Nothing happened, so there was no reason to be upset. They didn't do anything, so she shouldn't feel rejected. That's what Hermione told herself as she looked around her flat on Saturday afternoon.

A little tidying up is what I need, she thought. A distraction.

Not that there was anything she needed to be distracted from, because there was nothing to be upset about. Really.

She had walked home from Malfoy's apartment last night. It was a long, cold and difficult walk in heels but she somehow found her way back before 2 o'clock in the morning. She slept a mere three hours before waking, feeling filthy and suffocated by the mess. First she laundered all her fabrics, then washed and opened her windows to let in the fresh air. She got rid of four boxes of rubbish, numerous stacks of old paper work, some tattered clothes of Ron's, Harry's book on quidditch, kitty toys Crooks had never shown any interest in, and all but one of her remaining uniforms from their days at Hogwarts. She washed every dish, shampooed the rugs, dusted the bookshelves, and sorted her mail. By evening, the flat looked as it had the first week she moved in. Pristine and uncluttered. Just the way she liked it.

She settled down with a cup of tea to watch some tawdry muggle television, and put all thoughts of the previous day behind her. It was the weekend. Soon enough it would be the start of a new work week, and there was no reason to dwell on what hadn't happened. She was fine. Really.

"Mrow…" Crookshanks croaked from his deathbed near the fireplace. Hermione knew he was on the last leg of his life, and sadly all the charms and spells in the world were not going to save him when his time came. In his old age, he was diabetic, half blind, nearly deaf, and spent most of his days sleeping. She placed her tea on the coffee table and moved to crouch beside him. Stroking his matted old fur she said, "You've been the most reliable man in my life, Crooks. What am I going to do when you're gone?" he gazed at her through watery, cataract afflicted eyes.

"We've been through a lot, you and me. I hope you're not sick of me yet, though. I'm still the one that fills that dish of yours." she said nodding at his empty cat bowl. He meowed, as if in agreement. Hermione patted him on the head and sighed. "Let's go to bed then, yeah?"

"Mrow."

"I'm fine."

* * *

A/N: Hi! Down there! A little lower… there you go. I'd like to take a second to scream from the roof tops just how wonderful my beta is. Honestly, she's the best. She somehow managed to take the mediocre chapter I sent her and make it so much better than I ever could have. Ashwini, you're a rock star :)


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